


Secondary Trauma

by Ellie226



Series: Mark/El [5]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Play, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Cutting, Daddy Kink, F/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-18
Updated: 2012-02-18
Packaged: 2017-10-31 10:02:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/342764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellie226/pseuds/Ellie226
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Secondary trauma refers to the stress reaction associated with empathizing with an adult or child who has undergone trauma.  It is common for people working in professions wherein they are routinely exposed to the trauma of others.  For someone who has already experienced trauma, the risk of secondary trauma is higher.</p><p>In other words, El can't save everyone.  That doesn't mean she doesn't want to try.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secondary Trauma

I was sitting on the couch when he came home from work, wearing yoga pants and several tank tops. I had wrapped the afghan over myself, and I was Gone.

From the time I had sat down until he walked through the door, the living room had darkened; I hadn’t noticed. When he switched on the light, I startled, then looked at him, smiling wanly.

“Hi. How was your day?” I asked.

He smiled back and kissed me, then flopped bonelessly on the couch. “Long. You?”

I scrunched my nose back at him and shrugged. Pulling me to him so that my back rested against his chest, he began stroking my hair.

“Not an answer Baby. Use your words.” His voice was gently teasing, but I knew he wasn’t really joking.

I sighed, then began talking. “I talked to a kid today, that 7 year old. You know what she told me?” Not waiting for an answer, I continued, “She asked me where I was going to find a family for her when nobody wanted her. She said that if her own mother hated her because she was bad, why would a stranger want to adopt her...”

“And-”

“And what? That sucks! It’s fucked up that a 7 year old has given up hope in the system, but it’s also pretty damn impressive that she realizes how much we’ve failed her already and how that bodes for her goddamn future!!!”

“You want to try to tell me what’s bothering you without cursing?” He softly emphasized the word without. Although it would have sounded like a request to anyone else listening, it wasn’t really.

“It sucks.” I stopped for a minute, trying to stem the tears that I could feel in filling my eyes. “It’s not fair. It’s not fair that nobody wants to adopt her. It sucks that we messed up and didn’t step in before she managed to do this much damage to this kid. You know, we’ve had families ask about her...” I trailed off. That was the part that galled me. And I knew he was going to know it and I didn’t want to talk about it.

“And? You’ve had families asking. The right one will come along. You’re good at your job sweetheart.”

I swallowed, really fighting back the tears now. “Nobody wants her because she was molested. They hear all the other stuff and they don’t care. Then they hear that she got victimized, and she’s somehow not worth the trouble because somebody already fucked her over. It’s not fair. It’s not. I hate those stupid families for not seeing how awesome she is and how damn lucky they would be to get to call her their daughter. And I hate the system for not noticing what was going on and getting her out of there fast enough. And I just feel like screaming at them because it’s not like it’s any guarantee. I mean, you can take home a perfectly healthy kid from the hospital, and then ‘Oops’. You let the wrong person around her and now she’s a mess too. You should probably just bring her back. Not worth the effort.”

“Your parents didn’t do that.” His voice is gentle with me, but insistent. This wasn’t new ground.

“I know that. They handled it as well as anyone could. I’m just angry. I’m angry they didn’t know. I’m angry they didn’t protect me. And there’s no place for that anger to go and I just really really really wanted to hurt myself today.”

“Arms.”

“I didn’t Daddy! I wanted to, but I didn’t.”

“Then you won’t have a problem showing me your arms please.” As he said this, he forcibly turned me around so that I could face him.

I gracelessly shoved my arms forward, flipping them so that he could see the inside of my forearms. “See. Nothing. I’m having ideations, but I didn’t do anything.”

“Do you have a plan?”

I shrugged, shame-faced, and I wouldn’t look at him. He gripped my chin and tugged, forcing me to look him in the eyes. His voice was low, deceptively calm but still very dangerous if my experience was anything to go by.

“Do. You. Have. A. Plan?” He enunciated each word clearly.

“I could stop at CVS and buy a nail file. I drive past it on my way home. I wanted to do my arms, but it’s still too warm. I figured maybe my stomach or my legs. I wanted to, but I didn’t.”

“You know I’m going to see you tonight, right? So if you have anything you need to tell me, now is the time. It’s not a ‘get out of jail free’ card, but you’re going to be in way more trouble if I find out at bathtime that you lied young lady.”

I nodded, my jaw thrust forward, thinking about how not fair it was that he was upset. I was telling him, like I was supposed to. I stood up and made to move toward the kitchen, but he was up and in front of me first. 

“Pardon?” he looked at me as though he didn’t understand my nod.

“Yes. I didn’t carve myself up Daddy. I swear. I just really want to.” I tried to duck around him and into the kitchen.

Gripping me by my upper arms, he stopped me again. “Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“You know what. Stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything.” My voice was petulant.

“Stop beating yourself up. Stop thinking about hurting yourself. Leave it alone.” 

“This isn’t 1984. You can’t get mad about stuff I think.”

“Try me Kitten. Go ahead. You know the rules. Who is in charge?”

Looking at the ground, I muttered, “Daddy.”

“And why is that?”

“Because you know what’s best for me. And we agreed. But I don’t like it.”

“You don’t have to. You just focus on obeying.” And with that, still holding one arm, he began moving toward the kitchen, where he swiftly deposited me on a stool at the counter and began pulling out stuff to make dinner.

Eying the food, I couldn’t help but poke the bear. “I don’t like salmon. Or brown rice.”

With equanimity, he replied, “Actually, you do like what I’m making. Not that it matters. This isn’t a democracy, and we’re having salmon cakes and brown rice. Turn on your sun lamp please.” He gestured to the lamp on the counter to my right.

Pouting, I complied with his order, then continued my argument as he rummaged through the fridge, “Not broccoli again. Daddy! Come on!?!?! Can’t we have one thing I like?”

“You can have dinner without a sore bottom if you cease and desist with the whining now,” he offered sweetly. He looked at me, smiling. “If you’re a good girl and eat your dinner, you can have chocolate milk too.”

Biting my lip, I thumped a foot against the cabinets in front of me in frustration. I didn’t even really have time to contemplate my next course of action before I was unceremoniously jerked off the chair and Daddy was swatting away at my butt every step to the corner.

“Ouch! Daddy!” I yelped, trying to dance away from his hand. “I thought I was supposed to be using the darn light box?”

He had returned to the counter and was back to making dinner. “You can come out of there when you’re ready to. You know the rules. You have to have 30 minutes of that light a day. It doesn’t matter to me if you don’t get to watch tv because you put it off until after dinner.”

I wanted to kick the baseboards, but I managed to abstain. The most infuriating part about Daddy was his complete refusal to engage in arguments. He was clear, calm, and to the point. And it drove me absolutely batty. Arguing with someone who refuses to fight back is the worst.

I stood in the corner stewing for forever. Finally, as I heard him getting the skillet ready for the salmon, I realized that he was actually going to follow through on his promise to skip television that night.

“Daddy?”

“Mmmh?” he responded, his tone pleasant if distracted.

“I’m ready to come out now.”

“Over here,” he deftly stepped away from the stove and waited for me to join him. “Are you sure you’re ready to be pleasant?”

“Yes sir,” I nodded my head. 

“Alright then. Back over there in front of the light.” And with that, he dismissed me, intent on finishing dinner while I sat in front of that stupid box he had bought. I picked at my cuticles until he smacked my hands and admonished me.

“We’re cutting your nails after your bath.”

I hated when he acted like that. So matter of fact, as though it was perfectly normal to tell an adult something like that. As though I couldn’t tell when I needed to cut my own nails. I wanted to object, but I was already stingy from earlier, and I didn’t want to risk losing television privileges for the night. I sighed and rested my chin in my hand, waiting for the meal to be ready.

When I saw it getting close to done, I tried to jump off the stool to get plates and silverware, but I was thwarted.

“Sit back down; you still have fifteen minutes.”

“I want to help.” I tried very hard to keep from whining.

“I appreciate that. I want you to sit there and finish your time please.”

I sat and watched him finish. It was always awkward, being grounded like that, unable to help with mundane household tasks. It made me feel guilty, like I wasn’t pulling my own weight. 

Leaning over the counter, he swiped at my arm with a tea towel. “Stop picking at your lip.”

I jerked my hand down quickly. I hadn’t even realized I was doing it. “Sorry.”

He smiled at me and began rifling through a drawer, coming up with my mandala coloring book and some pencils. Sliding them across the table, it was clearly meant as a distraction from not helping.

I flipped through the book, finally settling on a design and beginning. I worked silently for about until dinner was done.

“Light off and hands washed please.”

As I started to go to the bathroom off the kitchen, he gripped my arm and steered me to the sink, “In here where I can see you please.”

My face toward the ground, I rolled my eyes, but complied with his demands. Then we sat down to dinner. We ate in companionable silence for several minutes until he began talking again.

“So tell me about something.”

“What?”

“Anything sweetheart. Just talk about something with me. Keep me company.”

I racked my brain, trying to think of something. “Did I tell you about Allie’s new case?”

“No work. I’m banning work talk. And try some of that a bit closer to your mouth,” he gestured toward the fork that I had been toying with while avoiding the food on my plate.

I stuck a bite in my mouth and chewed slowly, trying to come up with something to talk about.

“Oh! I finished that book.”

“Which one?”

“Room. You know, I was telling you about it-” 

He managed to keep me talking through dinner and distracted after that. He had hidden bath crayons from me and pulled them out, encouraging me to draw pictures on the wall as he washed my hair. I forgot about our discussion as I created a garden on the wall behind the bath.

After bath time it was pajamas and cutting my nails. That briefly brought me back to what we had discussed, but he kept me talking about plans for the weekend and things I had seen. We watched about an hour of television, me sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table coloring mandalas again while he stretched full length on the couch.

Finally, we were in bed, curled up together. We read the requisite chapter out of our book (we were up to the fourth Harry Potter). I tried to convince him to read more, but I was already yawning.

“No Baby. Not tonight.”

I sighed and settled next to him, half-way between irritation about not getting my way and contentment for the same reason. We snuggled wordlessly for a few minutes, until I began talking again.

“We could take her.”

“Take who?”

“You know who. We could take that little girl. We have the space.”

It was Daddy’s turn to sigh, as he pulled me in closer to him. “No.”

“Just one word? Just no? You would love her. She’s such a great kid, and-”

“No. Remember when we talked about this?”

I made a noncommittal noise.

“I love you, and I love the idea of adopting a child. Someday. But not right now Baby. Neither of us are ready to have a kid in the house full-time. It wouldn’t be fair to her or to us.”

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. When I managed to respond, my voice cracked. “What if we’re supposed to be her parents?”

“We’re not. We can’t bring home every child that you can’t find a family for. There will always be kids. And I believe in your ability to find her a family. What do you always tell me? ‘I’m awesome at my job?’” 

He tried to tease me, but tears were slipping down my face, sideways across my nose. “You would really love her.”

“I know. But she needs more right now than we can give her. You understand that right?”

“You love me...” I trailed off.

“I do love you. I love you enough to say no when something isn’t a good idea.”

“No, but you love me. I know she’s got problems. But you love me and I’m all messed up too. I know you could love her too.” I sniffled, and tried to joke. “I have great faith in your ability to love people even when they’re screwed up.”

He hugged me to his chest, gently rubbing my back. “I do love you. So much. And the answer is still no.”

I started crying in earnest then, my face buried in his chest. He let me stay there without forcing a conversation, just rubbing my back and waiting me out.


End file.
